


Spidergate

by FauxFidele



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Will is a dick, but hannibal probably deserves it tbh, domestic murder husbands, fluffy will graham, hannibal hates spiders, hannibal screaming, hannigram fluff, this is what happens when I can't sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FauxFidele/pseuds/FauxFidele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will finds out that Hannibal is afraid of spiders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spidergate

**Author's Note:**

> IDK why I'm like this, I'm sorry. But also not. 
> 
> Also, references to spiders are honestly pretty minimal because I really hate bugs and just ... ew.

The yip is sudden, and shocks Will into attention, though it’s cut off abruptly by a sudden emergence of self-control that, unsuccessfully, tries to mask the noise with a loud clearing of the throat.

Too late. The damage is done.

Will’s eyes narrow, practically gleaming with amusement as he assesses the situation and licks his lips as they break into a nefarious smile. “Oh. My … god,” he says, his grin absolutely refusing to stay closed, causing Will to emit a chortling sound that is frighteningly similar to that of prepubescent fangirl chasing her favorite new flavor-of-the-month.

Hannibal turns his nose down at Will, scoffing, as he walks calmly across the kitchen and leans against the opposite counter. “I’ve no idea what you think is so entertaining,” he says dryly, acting wholly uninterested.

Will paces around the area that Hannibal just walked from, scouring the granite countertop. He zeroes in on something and turns back to the older gentleman with a hint of devilry in his eyes.

“So,” Will says very slowly, walking up to Hannibal and forcing him to meet his eyes, “are you going to tell me that there’s _not_ a spider over there on the counter, and that you did _not_ just squeal like a dainty, eight-year-old girl when you saw it?”  
  
He bites his bottom lip forcefully to try and keep another giggle from escaping, lest he give Hannibal the ammunition to turn this back around on him. He definitely would, Will reasons, and garners all of his remaining restraint, even managing to bat his lashes like an innocent, newborn foal.  Hannibal ignores the flirtation, though, and with a bored sigh resorts to putting away the clean kitchen utensils from the dishwasher, and scoffs once again, more defensively this time.

“There _is_ a spider, yes,” he finally replies, “but an ill-timed sneeze is all you heard, I’m afraid.” He’s huffing and using more force to put things in their place, Will notices, as well as the fact that he is, without question, avoiding said spider-infested corner.

“And I _do not_ sneeze like a dainty, eight-year-old girl.”

“Oh, okay,” Will says with a contrived, syrupy-sweetness. He smiles brightly at the older man. _The great Chesapeake Ripper_ , Will thinks fondly, _afraid of fucking spiders_. It's almost _too good_ to be true.

"Why didn't you just kill it?" he asks.

Hannibal stops and sighs in annoyance. “I’m not sure what your obsessive fascination is with this, _Will_ ,” he snaps irritably. “I noticed the spider, turned to sneeze and remembered that I had intended to put away our dishes, since, _by the way_ , I am the only one, apparently, capable of doing that,” he says, pursing his lips and scowling at the younger man.

Will shrugs a sort of fake apologetic thing and grins with one side of his mouth turned up. “My apologies,” he says, backing up discretely.

He opens the cupboard and grabs a glass, making his way to the corner where the spider has been corralled. As he tilts the glass on its side, Hannibal suddenly turns his attention to Will and looks at him with a strange lack of understanding.

“What?” Will says with a shrug. “It’s bad luck to kill a spider, I’m gonna let him go outside.” Hannibal shoots him a fleeting, but hesitant glance.

Will tires to shoo the creature into the glass with a napkin, holding the paper over the top so that it can’t escape. He walks toward Hannibal with the trapped spider, but immediately the psychiatrist steps back with every step he takes until he’s been backed against the kitchen wall. A gleeful smile spreads across Will’s face.

“Wanna see it?”

He holds the glass up to Hannibal’s face. The older man winces and turns his head away, unable to look directly at it. He lifts his eyes to Will’s in a surprisingly menacing glare and curls his lip ever so slightly. Will knows the look well, though he’s rarely on the receiving end of it.

Stepping back, Will lowers the glass and gives him some breathing room. “Everyone’s afraid of things, Hannibal,” he says. “Just ask me to take care of it and I’ll put you – _it_ , rather, out of its misery.”

Hannibal stands quietly, stoic and composed. Unmoving. Unbreaking. Will sighs, letting out a long exhale. “Okay. Fine,” he says. Will looks down at the glass and then lifts his eyes up to Hannibal.

“I’ll let it go.”

With those words, Will tosses the paper napkin aside and motions the open glass toward Hannibal with a hoist. And then it happens.

The piercing banshee scream echoes across the open kitchen, diminishing into exasperated whimpers as Hannibal swipes at his face and clothes in a glorious dance of spider exorcism.

“ _Get it off!_ ” he shrieks pathetically before unleashing a tirade of indecipherable swear words in a foreign language that Will can’t possibly begin to identify, partly due to the frantic way Hannibal is flapping about and partly due to the loudness of his own hysterics.

Clutching his stomach, Will struggles to huff a word out in response between the breathy guffaws that overcome him. His face reddens as he tries and fails even harder, wet tears now pooling at the corner of his eyes as he loses all sense of restraint and unravels completely. Hannibal looks up at him long enough to throw a furious scowl his direction.

As Will’s madness continues, he eventually recovers enough to muster out a few words here and there. “Han … Hannibal,” he starts, regressing back into a slew of giggles. His face aches from laughing so hard, and his sides are actually beginning to tense up and cramp.

“No … spider …” he manages to cough out before another fit, “it’s still over there.”

Will points toward the counter where Hannibal had originally identified his adversary. “Its already dead,” he says, panting, still not quite able to stabilize the bouts of sporadic chuckles. “Probably dead for … hours, at least.” He stands up straight, biting and contorting his rubbery lips to emulate a serious face.

Hannibal now stands completely still, watching Will’s display with a distinct lack of amusement. “You’re an _asshole_ ,” he says sharply, looking away at once.

“True,” he answers with an unapologetic shrug. “But _that_ …” Will says, motioning his head toward the psychiatrist, “sounded like a howler monkey.”

Will’s eyes gleam triumphantly as he tries to step closer to Hannibal, who promptly swats him away when he’s within arm’s reach, reactivating a trill of high-pitched cackles from the younger man.

Instinctively Will raises his hands in front of his face, playfully defensive. “A suffering _, mortally wounded_ howler monkey,” he adds, through the cracking laughter.

“ _You’re one to talk_ ,” Hannibal hisses angrily, “carrying on like … like some adolescent _grade school girl_.”

His chest is rising and falling quicker than Will can recall seeing it in a very, very long time and for some reason it makes the smirk on his face grow even wider. “Well, I _did_ promise you a reckoning _,_ ” he says smugly, but lifting a playful eyebrow to hopefully soften the impact of the sucker punch.

The older man’s lips part briefly as he takes in the affront, promptly turning his back to the kitchen with a furious _harumph_ and stomps loudly down the course of the hallway, footsteps ending only when a door slams with enough force to send vibrations throughout all the windows in their flat.

Will knows he’ll be atoning for this later, likely paying hours of penance on his knees at the altar of Hannibal Lecter, but for now he allows himself to bask in this small, but satisfying victory, and pours a glass of Bâtard-Montrachet to celebrate.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Was watching TV the other day and "Yellow Fever" came on, reminding me of when I used to love Supernatural because it made me laugh so much. So this is partly inspired by that. And partly by my own horrible fear of cockroaches. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> *Reckoning added for @Hanni_who (Twitter)
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!!! :)


End file.
